Soldier of the mist l-1

by Gene Wolfe

  "Naturally. Now as to you, child. Your city is allied with the Great King already, and as your friend Pindaros told you, it would have been destroyed but for my own city and my acts in its behalf. Isn't it clear that anything that helps your strongest friends helps you?"

  Io shook her head. "To tell the truth, I don't care about my city. I care about Latro."

  I said, "Who is a soldier of the Great King's. You think I'm an idiot because I forget, Prince Pausanias, and perhaps I am. But I've always known that, even when I did not know my name."

  CHAPTER XXVIII-Mycale

  A place of which most, I think, had never heard before is now on everyone's lips. The combined fleets of Thought and the Rope Makers have given the barbarians another terrible defeat there. Some say this was on the same day as the great battle in which I was wounded, others that it must surely have been after it, for it could not have taken so long for the news to reach us. To this the first reply that a ship may be delayed for any time one chooses by storms and contrary winds, and that the news came first to Thought, and only subsequently to us from there.

  Io said, "Oh, I hope the black man's all right. I know you don't remember the black man, Latro, but he was your friend even before Pindaros and me. When they brought you to the temple, he was with you."

  I asked her, "Do you think he was in that battle?"

  "I hope not, but he probably was. When Hypereides sold you to Kalleos, he kept the black man. And Hypereides was going to take his ships back to the fleet."

  "Then I hope the black man is safe, and Hypereides dead."

  "You shouldn't be like that, master. Hypereides wasn't a bad man. He got us out of that dungeon in Tower Hill, just by talking, and he let Pindaros and Hilaeira go when the law said he should."

  But before I write of these recent matters, I should write of earlier things, which may soon be lost to me in the mist I cannot drive from the back of my thoughts. The regent has put us in the care of his messenger, who sent his slaves to bring our possessions and Basias's tent. He showed us where his own stood, near the regent's, and told us to put up Basias's beside it. I did not think I recalled how a tent should be erected; but when I had spread everything upon the ground, the steps came to me each in turn. Io crawled beneath the oiled linen and held up the poles, and she enjoyed that so much I took three times longer about the whole business than I should.

  A sword Io says is mine was with Basias's clothing in a scabbard hung from a belt of manhood. I put it on and felt better at once; a man without weapons is a slave. Io says Kalleos let me wear it when I was hers, and perhaps that is why I did not feel resentful toward her, as Io swears I did not.

  Then Basias's slaves came, cowering because they thought themselves to be beaten. They had been gathering firewood when Pasicrates's slaves had come, and they had discovered what had befallen their master's baggage with great difficulty. I explained that their master was ill and ordered them to have such food as sick men eat ready for him.

  That was wise, because slaves soon brought Basias in a litter. With them was an old man who told us he was Kichesippos the Messenian, but who speaks as the Rope Makers and their slaves do, making the ox long. Basias's arm was swollen and black, and it seemed to me that he was in a dream, sometimes hearing what we said, sometimes deaf to it, sometimes seeing what we could not see. Perhaps that is how I seem to others; I do not know.

  Kichesippos told Basias's slaves, "Your master has been bitten by a viper, and from the breadth between its fangs and the severity of his reaction, by a larger one than I have ever seen. I have cut his wounds and drawn forth the poison as well as it can be done. Do not attempt to do that a second time; after the first, it is useless. Let him rest, see that he is warm, feed him if he will eat. Give him all he wants to eat and drink. By the favor of the goddess, he may recover. But he may die."

  Io asked if there was nothing more we could do.

  "As I understand the matter, the viper has not been killed?"

  I nodded, and Io said, "We never even saw one, sir. He hit somebody, and somebody else said there was a poisoned pin in his hair."

  Kichesippos shook his head. "A pin could not have held so much, and it would have left a single scratch. I will not remove the bandage to show you the punctures, but there are two." (Then I marveled at little Io's cunning; if she had told him it was his master, Pausanias, who had said it, surely Kichesippos would never have contradicted him.)

  "If the viper were dead," he continued, "that might be of benefit to him. Still more if its raw flesh could be held to his wound-while it lives, it strengthens its poison as a city strengthens the army it sends forth. Other than that, I can suggest nothing."

  Io said, "Then you might examine my master. Perhaps the royal regent spoke of him after they conferred today? He can't remember."

  "I've noticed the scar. Come here, young man, I wish to touch it. Will you kneel? No act of submission is implied. Tell me if I hurt you."

  I knelt before him and felt his deft fingers glide along the side of my head. Io asked, "Are you a priest of Aesculapius? When Latro slept beside his altar, Aesculapius said he couldn't help him."

  "Nor can I, I'm afraid," Kichesippos told her, "without reopening the wound. That might easily kill him." His fingers withdrew. "You may stand, young man. Do you drop things? Do you fall or suffer dizziness?"

  I shook my head.

  "You are fortunate-all those symptoms are to be expected. Were you wearing a helmet when your injury occurred?"

  I told him I did not know.

  "That's right, you forget. Is that your only symptom?"

  "Yes," I told him.

  Io said, "Gods appear to him. Sometimes."

  Kichesippos sighed. "Occasional hallucinations. Young man, I think some foreign object has been driven deeply into your brain. A splinter of bone is the most likely thing, judging from the visible wound; but I have known of a similar case in which the object was a small arrowhead. If it's of any comfort to you, it probably won't get any worse. Eventually the object may dissolve, particularly if it's a bone splinter. If that occurs, the damaged part may-I say may-reconstitute itself, partially at least.

  "Don't get your hopes up. The process will take years if it happens at all, and it probably will not. As for treatment… " He shrugged. "Prayers are never wholly wasted. Even if you're not cured, you may receive some other benefit. There is Aesculapius, whom this child says you have petitioned already. In addition, there are shrines all over the country to heroes who are said to heal, though they killed, mostly, while they lived. One may help you. And there are the great gods, if you can get their attention. Meanwhile, learn to live with your disability. Do you recall my name?"

  "Kichesippos."

  Io said, "In the morning he remembers yesterday evening, but by noon he's forgotten it. He writes things down."

  "Excellent."

  I said, "Yet when I reread what I've written, I sometimes wonder whether I wrote the truth."

  "I see." Kichesippos nodded to himself. "Have you written anything today?"

  "Yes, while we were waiting to see the regent."

  "And were you tempted to lie? I do not ask whether you lied, but only whether you were tempted to do so."

  I shook my head.

  "Then I very much doubt that you have lied in the past. Lying is a habit, you see, like drinking too much. You told the truth as you saw it, which is all any man can do."

  I said I hoped he was correct.

  "You must remember that in every life there occur events so extraordinary that only the most talented and ingenious liar could have conceived them. Take the great battle at Mycale-have you heard about it?"

  Io and I shook our heads.

  "Word of it reached the regent only today, and the noble Pasicrates, who had it directly from my master, informed me as we conferred about your poor friend here." The old man paused to collect his thoughts.

  "This Mycale is a place on the Asian coast. King Leotychides found the barbarian
fleet beached there, the portents were favorable, and he ordered an immediate attack. The ships' crews had been reinforced by an army from Susa, and it seems to have been a hot fight. But in the long run the barbarians can't stand up to disciplined troops, and they broke. Naturally, our men held their formation; but a few men from other cities ran after the enemy, and by great good luck they were able to reach the stockade before the gates could be shut. That finished the barbarians, and we burned more than three hundred ships." He rubbed his palms together. "The men from a hundred ships burned three hundred and destroyed an army. In a century, who will believe it? The Great King will build more ships, no doubt, and raise new armies. But not this year, and not the next."

  "And meanwhile," I said, "he'll need every soldier he has."

  Kichesippos nodded. "I imagine so."

  By the time the old physician left, it was nearly dark. I told the slaves to prepare food for us, and the woman in the purple cloak joined us while we ate. "Would you mind if I had some? I couldn't help but smell it. I'm your neighbor now-did you know?"

  "No," Io said. "We didn't know where you were staying."

  "With the handsome Pasicrates. But he's off somewhere at the moment, and his slaves won't obey me."

  There was hardly enough food for Io, Basias, and me, so I went to Pasicrates's tent, where I found his slaves cooking a meal for themselves. One escaped, but when I had the other two by the throat I pounded the right head against the left and told them to bring food, and that I would push their faces into the coals the next time they disobeyed the woman.

  When I returned to our own tent, she said, "What did I tell you? Barley, blood, and beans. And after sampling the barley and beans, I think I would prefer the blood. Well, beans are a proper food for the dead, anyway."

  I asked her whether she planned to die.

  "No, but we're going there. Hadn't you heard? To Rope, so the royal Pausanias can bed his wife, then to Acheron so he can consult the shades. It should be an interesting trip."

  Io asked, "You mean we're going to visit the dead?"

  The woman nodded, and though I felt vaguely that I had once considered her less than attractive, I could not help noticing that her face was lovely in the firelight. "I am, at least, and the regent is. You should have seen how delighted he was when someone told him who I was. He sent for me again at once, and I thought he was going to ask me to raise a few ghosts for him on the spot."

  "Is it far?" Io inquired.

  "To Acheron? Why, no, just the other side of the grave."

  I told the woman not to tease her.

  "Oh," she said, "you want to take the long road. No, not really, Io. Two or three days to Rope, and not much longer, I'd think, to Acheron, if we get a ship at the gulf, as I suppose we will. By the way, do you have a comb I might borrow? I seem to have lost mine."

  Not with the best grace, Io produced a little bone comb. The woman ran it through her dark hair, which in truth could not have been more disordered if it had never been combed at all.

  "I'm going to let it grow out," she said. "These Rope Makers all let theirs grow long, have you noticed? They comb it before a battle, or so I've heard. See? No poisoned pins."

  Pasicrates's slaves brought a bowl of beans, some dried fish, a loaf of barley bread, and a wine bowl. I told Io to see whether Basias had eaten. She reported that he was thirsty, and I gave her a cup of mixed wine from the bowl, and half the loaf.

  The woman said, "You'd better eat some of that yourself. You won't be getting anything better."

  I said, "I intend to. But first, may I ask you a question? Your tongue isn't my own, and I sometimes feel I haven't learned as much of it as I'd like."

  "Certainly."

  "Then tell me why everyone calls you Eurykles, which is a man's name."

  "Ah," she said. "That' s a personal question."

  "Will you answer it?"

  "If I may ask you one."

  "Of course."

  "Because they haven't divined my true nature. They think me a man. So did you, in a time you've forgotten."

  I said, "I'll try not to reveal your secret."

  She smiled. "Speak out if you wish. It's all one to Hippocleides, if you know that expression."

  Just then Io came out of the tent, the wine cup still more than half full. "He won't eat any bread," she said. "I talked to his slaves and gave it to them. They said he wouldn't eat for them, either, but he sipped a little broth."

  The woman called Eurykles shuddered.

  "Since you don't mind people knowing, what shall we call you?" I asked her.

  "Why not Drakaina, as you yourself suggested? Drakaina of Miletos. By the way, have you heard about the battle and what the Milesians did afterward?"

  "Not about the Milesians. Weren't they sent inland to herd goats? That's what the regent said."

  "Oh, no. Just some people from the prominent families. And not to herd goats, not really; they were sent to Susa as hostages. But when the people of my fair city heard about Mycale, they rose against the barbarian garrison and killed them all."

  "As a barbarian myself, I'm not sure I approve."

  "Nor am I," Drakaina said. "Still, it puts me in a rather dubious position, doesn't it? I like that." She rose and returned Io's comb.

  "Aren't you going to ask your personal question?"

  She shook her head. "I'll reserve it. Later, perhaps."

  When she had gone back into Pasicrates's tent, Io looked at her little comb with dismay. "Now I'll have to wash it," she said.

  CHAPTER XXIX-The Silent Country

  This land the Rope Makers rule is a place of harsh mountains and wide, fertile valleys. Behind us are the rough hills of Bearland, where we camped last night and Basias woke me with his groaning. Io says we camped the night before outside Tower Hill, and she hid this scroll as she had when we were imprisoned there, for fear it would be taken from me. She says also that some of the soldiers were from that city, and that they left the army there.

  This morning while we were still in Bearland, I wondered why this Silent Country should be called so. When we stopped in the village for the first meal, I went to one of the houses to ask the people.

  There was no one there, they being (as I assumed) at work in their fields. Io says Basias is supposed to watch me, but he is too ill for that; and Pasicrates, who had watched me on the morning march, has run ahead.

  Thus I went from house to house, stooping to enter the low doorways and coughing at the smoke from the hearths. Once I found a pot seething over the flames, and once a half-eaten barley cake; but there were no men, no women, and no children, and at last I began to think that they were somehow hidden from mortal eyes, or perhaps that they were the spirits of the dead, whom the Rope Makers had in some way forced to toil.

  The fifth place to which I came was a smithy. Its forge still blazed, and tongs gripped a half-formed, glowing spit. When I saw it I knew the smith could not be more than a step or two away; I found him crouched beneath his own work table, hiding behind his leather apron, which he had draped across it. I pulled him out and made him stand. His grizzled head came only to my shoulder, but he was as muscular as all are who are of that trade.

  He begged my pardon many times, saying over and over that he had meant no disrespect and had only been frightened to see a stranger. I told him I would not hurt him, and explained that I merely wished to ask him a few questions about this land.

  At that he grew more frightened than ever, his face the color of ashes. He feigned to be deaf and, when I shouted at him, to speak some gobbling dialect and to be unable to understand me. I drew Falcata and laid her edge at his throat; but he caught my wrist and wrenched it until I cried out, and with his free hand snatched up his hammer. Then I saw the face of Death himself, his naked, grinning skull.

  In an instant Death was gone; there was only the smith's face again, more ashen now than ever, its mouth open and its eyes rolling backward into his head. The sound his hammer made as it fell from his h
and and struck the earthen floor seemed too loud, like the noise that wakes us from sleep.

  I let him go, and he leaned backward until his body was held erect for a moment by the javelin in his back. The point crept from his chest under the press of his weight, two fingers' width of hammered iron that shone in the light of the forge, before he slipped to one side and tumbled down.

  One of the slaves of the Rope Makers stood in the doorway holding a second javelin. I said, "Thank you. I owe you my life."

  Putting his foot on the body, he drew out his weapon and wiped its head on the smith's leather apron. "This is my village," he said. And then, "He made this."

  "But he would have killed me, when I would not have harmed him."

  "He thought you would, and it would have been his death if he had been seen talking with a foreigner. As it will be mine if I'm seen with you."

  "Then let us not be seen," I said, and we dragged the smith's body to a place out of sight of the street; when we had concealed it as well as we could, we kicked dust over the blood, and he led me through a rear door to a yard where the smithy and its heaps of charcoal shielded us.

  "You don't remember me," he said.

  I shook my head. "I forget much."

  "So you told me after we had seen the black god. I'm Cerdon, Latro. Do you still have your book? Perhaps you wrote of me there, though I told you not to."

  "Are we friends, then? Is that why you saved me?"

  "We can be, if you'll keep your promise."

  "If I've promised something to you, I'll do what I promised. If I haven't, I'll give you whatever you ask anyway. You saved my life."

  "Then come with me to the shrine of the Great Mother tonight. It's not far from here."

  I heard a faint sound as he spoke: the whisper of a woman's skirt, or the dry slithering of a serpent. Then it was gone, and when I looked I saw nothing. I said, "I'd do it gladly if I could; but we'll march as soon as the slaves have eaten. Tonight we'll be far away."

  "But you'll come if you can, and not forget?"